Blame
by madeleine68
Summary: Based on "Punk." Abbie blames herself, so what does she do? Pushes harder, of course. Oneshot. Please review!


**Disclaimer: None of it's mine. Everything belongs to Dick Wolf, the writers, the producers, blah blah blah.**

**For reference: This story puts Abbie Carmichael as older than Angie Harmon, so following the timeline of the show, this takes place in 1998, and Abbie was born in the mid '60's.**

**So I finally got around to writing something based on **_**Punk**_**, which is one of my favorite Abbie Carmichael episodes. And we all know that Abbie is my favorite ADA on the mothership. **** So obviously, spoilers for **_**Punk**_**. Oneshot. Enjoy!**

Jack and I are sitting in his office, preparing for Alice Simonelli's trial tomorrow. "Make sure you ask her about her felony conviction," I remind him.

I'm not exactly sure why I'm fighting this so hard. Maybe it's just because Alice Simonelli gives a bad name to rape victims everywhere. She's playing the system and she's blaming me. And _it's not my fault_. It _isn't_. It took me ten long years of therapy to finally learn that I can't blame myself for the problems of the world, so why should I let anyone else blame me?

Well, maybe I'm all bluster. Because deep down, I do blame myself. The second time I let this happen, let someone get hurt. But this time – this time, it's worse, because I didn't let myself get hurt. I let someone else get hurt. I became a prosecutor to help people, to help the victims. But Alice is also a victim, in some roundabout way. And I made her so. Instead of helping her, I hurt her. And maybe she didn't deserve to go to jail after all. But still, I put her there.

"It could backfire," he tells me. "She claims she was wrongly convicted by one of the ADAs now prosecuting her for murder."

I wave my hand dismissively, trying to push away my empathy. I can't feel sorry for her. I _can't_. "And she'll look like she's making excuses. And the two incidents in jail, the sharpened broomstick and the marijuana."

Jack stares at me. "_Marijuana_?"

"She violated prison rules," I snap.

"Abbie, I'm not suggesting we water down the cross, but you heard what I heard. Is it really that hard for you to put yourself in Alice's shoes?"

No, it's not. I know exactly how she feels.

But I can't show it. I can't. I can't. I _can't_.

"Why should I? Because she blames me for what happened to her? Jack, whatever hellhole she's in, she put herself there."

_Just like I put myself there ten years ago._

"She didn't _ask _to be guarded by Charlie Tyner."

Just like I didn't ask to be chosen by _him_.

Except I did. All I wanted back then was to be popular, and I was more than happy to be his girl. That is, until he took advantage.

Still, I counter, "No, but she's still responsible for her own conduct in or out of jail."

He raises an eyebrow. "You know, maybe you should handle the cross."

_Fine._

It's time for my cross and I take a deep breath, bracing myself for what I have to do. Getting up, I walk over to the witness stand. Lacing my voice with as much contempt as I can muster, I bite out, "You're a convicted felon, aren't you? That's why you're in prison in the first place."

"You should know," she replies bitterly. "You prosecuted me."

"I suppose you were innocent," I say sarcastically.

"I made a mistake," she tells me, clearly fighting to keep her voice even but not succeeding.

"Didn't you get in trouble in the first prison you went to?"

"Some girls had some marijuana. They told me it was no big deal. I was smoking with them. We all got busted. It was stupid of me. They were supposed to send me to a work camp. Instead, they sent me to Pine Hills," explains Alice.

"Where you stabbed another inmate with a broomstick. Was that just another stupid mistake?"

"No. _She_ came at _me_ with it."

"After Charlie Tyner _allegedly _raped you." I have to put the emphasis on _allegedly_, to remind myself why I'm here in the first place. To separate myself from this girl. Because she's _not _me. I never killed him, much as I would have liked to, and if I had, I would deserve to go to jail for a very long time. We are light years apart, her and me, and I need to keep it that way. "He assigned you a cushy job in the commissary."

"I didn't ask to work there," she snaps back.

"This so-called rapist also gave you some socks, isn't that right?"

Even as I say this, I know that nothing he could give could ever replace what he took. Not only did he take my virginity. He also took my pride. And Abbie Carmichael's pride is the _most_ important thing to her.

With contempt lacing her tone, Alice says, "My parents sent me five pairs of wool socks. Three days later, somebody stole them. What Charlie was doing to me . . . yeah, he gave me some socks."

"So this relationship had some perks for you."

I know it's cruel and I know it's wrong, but still I can't help myself from repeating to her what others had told me over and over. Of course, they hadn't heard my story, only his – I couldn't talk about it. I was too frightened, too ashamed. But also, that was back in '88, when people thought date rape was a "misinterpretation of signals" rather than a violent act. _You were out on a date with him, Abbie. You wanted it. It was your fault. You gave him the wrong signals. _Whatever that means. Or worse – _you're a SLUT._ Over and over people said it, and soon I started to believe it.

"It _wasn't _a _relationship_. It was _rape_."

And I said the same thing. Over and over but nobody listened. Should I listen now? Or should I do to her what so many did to me?

"But you never complained about it."

I would have. If only I could go back to that one fateful day in December, the day that turned all of my future Christmases sour because all I could think of was what happened to me that one day. I wouldn't have gone with him. I wouldn't have let him touch me. I would have fought harder, been stronger, because nobody overpowers Abbie fucking Carmichael and gets away with it. _Nobody._

At least, not _now_.

"The last girl who complained, they planted drugs in her cell."

"You never even told your Pagonos friend Candy?" I press. "Or Luis Pecheco?"

She's trying to appear indifferent, but I see the pain behind her mask as she says, "No."

"Didn't you trust them?"

Now she's on the verge of tears. "I was ashamed."

"Why would you feel ashamed if it wasn't your fault?" Really, though, I'm not asking Alice. I'm asking myself. Because it _wasn't _my fault. It _wasn't_. And I can't keep blaming myself for things I can't control.

But I could have controlled it. I could have stopped him. I could have done so many things differently. I wouldn't have gotten caught in his trap to begin with.

"Have you ever been _raped_, Ms. Carmichael?"

I bite back my gasp and can't catch my breath for a moment. _How did she know? _Now, having it out here in open court – I won't answer, but the words are there, a bridge connecting us, and I think she knows it. I glance at the judge, though, to make sure _she_ doesn't.

"Don't you think I felt stupid for being there so Charlie could try to _rape _me?"

_Shit. She's playing on my emotions because she knows. And I can't let her. I can't, I can't, I can't. _When I signed up for this job, I committed myself to justice, and sometimes justice may not seem very just. But that's life.

_Double shit. _Jack is staring at me, scrutinizing my expression, and I can't show him the truth. I try to wipe my face blank again, but my heart is pounding so loud I'm sure the entire courtroom can hear it.

I glance at him, then take a moment to compose myself, calming my shallow breathing before I speak again. But my voice is breaking as I whisper, "So now you blame yourself." But again, I'm not talking to her. I'm talking to myself.

She nods, again on the verge of tears. "Yes."

And I understand. Oh, God, I understand too well. It's a pain no one should ever have to deal with. The burning shame that settles in the pit of your stomach, the _dirtiness_ that you can never quite wash away. It's been ten years, and I still can't get rid of it.

But I have to push away my empathy for this criminal, because that's really all she is. I have to follow the law. Abbie Carmichael doesn't rule by her emotions. She does what's right.

But now, what _is _right?"

"But instead of punishing yourself, you punished Charlie Tyner."

But then, would I have _wanted_ her to punish herself? I punished myself for eight months. Every slice I made on my arm gave me a perverse sense of satisfaction, that maybe one day if I cut myself enough, maybe my shame and my guilt would seep out along with the blood. It hurt so much, but it also made me feel better. If I punished myself, maybe no one would have to punish me.

It didn't work that way, though. They still taunted me, blamed me, belittled me. Punished me. _You asked for it. You wanted it. It's your fault. You'd spread your legs for anyone, wouldn't you? You're a whore, Abbie. You're a SLUT._

But I took comfort in the fact that they couldn't hurt me any more than I could hurt myself.

"You had Luis Pecheco force him to his knees –" I continue, forcing my mind blank. _I can't do this._

"No, no. He was killing –"

"And beg for his life." I force myself to ignore her and keep going. _The harder you push, the more solid the mask._

"I just wanted to go home to my daughter! Charlie knew that. He was using that. He was never gonna stop. I was just scared all the time. Can't you understand that? He had all the power. I was nothing."

I can understand that. I wish that I didn't, though. I wish to God that I didn't.

We're in Adam's office. The jury's been out for three days and we're still discussing a plea.

"Man one's been on the table," says Jack. "I haven't heard from Melnick since the jury went out."

My next words are just as much a surprise to me as they are the other occupants in the room. "Why don't we give her a call?"

Adam and Jack both stare at me, clearly wondering who the hell this alien is and what the hell she's done with Abbie Carmichael. I've never done this before, gone easy on any perp. The look of absolute shock on Adam's face would have made me laugh at any other time, but now, it's too serious. I've come to my senses. I can't let any other girl go through what I lived with for ten long years.

We're at the jail with Alice and Melnik. I'm staring at Alice, trying to keep my face blank, trying not to let my empathy shine through. She, on the other hand, is having none of it. She folds her arms and glares at me.

But I don't second guess my decision. I know I'm doing the right thing.

"We're breaking up the party at Pine Hills," says Jack.

"That's great," says Melnik sarcastically. "But you still can't erase the past."

"My offer is still man one. Or we get ready for a retrial."

"It's a wash, Jack. It'll always be a wash."

"Does your client want to take that chance?" he asks.

"Plead down to attempted man one," she snaps.

"Five to ten."

"Three to six. Concurrent with her drug sentence."

"If she testifies again Pecheco," agrees Jack after a moment.

But Alice is having none of it. "Did _she_ put you up to that?" she asks bitterly, inclining her head toward me. "That's a death sentence."

"_She's _the reason why I'm talking to you," replies Jack, matching her tone.

I jump, glancing at him and hoping he hasn't read the truth in my eyes. Hoping that he doesn't know.

"Alice." Melnik whispers something in Alice's ear, then she sits back up and Melnik says, "Okay, look. She knows where Pecheco got the gun. She'll give you a name and address, but no testimony."

"I'm eligible for parole in three years?" asks Alice.

"Yes, but no guarantees," says Melnik.

I nod my concurrance. Surprisingly, being merciful feels almost as good as being relentless. Who would've thought?

"Need a lift?" asks Jack on our way out.

I don't. I need some time alone right now. "You go ahead. I'll call a cab. I need to take a breath."

"You want to talk about it? Or not. Whatever you feel comfortable with."

I turn around and start to leave, but then it occurs to me. Maybe talking about it now won't be such a bad thing after all. I'm not a child anymore. I can deal so much better than I could ten years ago. And for some obscure reason, Abbie Carmichael, who hasn't trusted _anyone _in ten long years, trusts Jack. So I turn back to him and bite my lower lip, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear, bracing myself before I tell him.

I can't quite keep the tears from my voice as I say quietly, "I was a freshman. He was a third year law student. We were on a date. I never told anybody. I blamed myself. But not anymore."

And then I turn and walk away. Maybe I've accomplished something after all.

**I hope you liked it. Review if you did!**


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